The Night Has Darkness On Its Side
by Themisto's-Heart
Summary: The first time Nick got flowers from a secret admirer, he laughed it off as a silly joke from his co-workers. But when gifts and photos of himself show up at his home, he starts to worry. Eventual Monroe/Nick, violence, language, non-con (mostly off-screen), friendship, hurt/comfort; set during season one.
1. Chapter 1

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Nothing's mine. And beware. English is not my first language, but I hope the story is readable. The title is taken from Elbow's lyrics to "The Night Will Always Win".

* * *

Nick slowly circled the body. The dead woman's name was Linda Evans. She had been 35 years old and had worked as a teacher. One of her colleagues had found her this afternoon. Linda hadn't shown up at work or called in sick, so they had checked on her and discovered her. She lay sprawled in the middle of her living room, a large puddle of blood under her. Her head had been smashed in with a bronze ornament, which was lying beside her. Close to her outstretched left hand lay a broken wedding picture. She and her husband looked happy and radiant on the photo. Nick felt a pang looking at the picture. Another bright future destroyed. Nick's thoughts veered against his will towards Juliette. Their break was rather fresh and it still hurt terribly. He almost wished he could be mad at her, but their failed relationship was mainly his fault. His secrets and lies had destroyed the trust between them.

Hank came out of the kitchen and thankfully derailed Nick's gloomy thoughts. He said, "The backdoor's open. Our perp most probably came in this way and surprised her."

Nick nodded. The house looked ransacked. Probably a robbery gone wrong. "Have we got hold of the husband already?"

"He's on his way home."

The poor guy was in for a heartbreaking surprise. Nick didn't look forward to talking with Mr. Evans.

-o-o-o-

The talk with Mike Evans had been less harrowing than Nick had expected. The man had appeared grief-stricken and shocked, but Nick couldn't help doubting his sincerity. There was something off in his reactions and he wasn't the only one who didn't buy Evans's story. Hank was suspicious too. So they had decided to talk to the Evans's neighbors to get a better picture of the involved people. At least so far there seemed to be nothing Grimm-related about this case.

Nick thanked Mrs. Sims, the elderly neighbor next door, and slowly made his way to the next house. Apparently Linda and Mike had had their problems. The last few months they had fought a lot and Mrs. Sims thought that Mike had an affair. Of course she had no proof, but she was sure nonetheless.

Nick walked up to the next house and knocked. A young woman opened the door and Nick showed his badge. The woman straightened her posture and asked, "Yes? Can I help you?"

Nick flashed a quick smile, introduced himself, and asked her about her name.

"I'm Millie Fields."

"Ms. Fields, can I ask you a few questions about the Evans's?"

"Oh. Okay, I guess. Why, though? Did something happen?"

Nick quickly explained what had happened to Linda and asked, "How well do you know Mr. and Mrs. Evans?"

Millie shrugged. "Not very well. But…"

"But?"

"Well, they were fighting almost constantly. They were screaming at each other all the time. And one evening I saw Linda sitting in her car in the driveway crying her eyes out. I mean, I don't want to gossip, but I don't think they were very happy together. Did… Did Mike kill her?"

"We don't know yet. We're just asking a few questions." Nick smiled again. "Thank you for your time, Ms. Fields."

Interesting. Nick took some notes and made his way to the next house. Maybe it hadn't been a botched burglary at all.

-o-o-o-

A few hours later Nick and Hank had cracked the case. Mike Evans had folded during his interrogation and he had confessed everything. He and Linda had fought like so many times before but this time the fight had gotten out of hand. He had grabbed the nearest object and hit her with it. According to him it had only been a reflex. He hadn't wanted to kill her, which Nick actually believed. Mike's remorse was genuine. After he had gotten over his first panic, he had tried to stage a break-in to save his own hide. Then he had cleaned himself up and drove to work. The last part of his confession was barely understandable, because he was crying so hard. In Nick warred conflicting emotions. On the one hand he was disgusted by Mike's actions, on the other hand he felt almost sorry for him. Mike's tearful last sentences played themselves over and over in Nick's head, "I love her. I love her so much it hurts, but I couldn't live with her any longer. She drove me crazy, but I still love her. Love is terrible. It hurts and it destroys everything."

Nick couldn't help but agree to some extent. His own experiences with love so far had been quite painful as well.

TBC.


	2. Chapter 2

_Three days later…_

"What is this?"

Nick stood before his desk and stared. Sergeant Wu ambled over, leaned forward to examine the offending object on the table, and finally solemnly said, "It looks like flowers to me. Roses, to be exact."

"Thanks."

Wu clapped him on the shoulder and cheerfully said, "Anytime, man."

Nick snorted and investigated the unexpected roses closer. A little card was tucked into the bouquet. It simply read "A token of affection from a secret admirer" and a little heart was drawn under the sentence. A slight frown found its way onto Nick's face. A secret admirer? What the hell? He couldn't think of anyone who would send him _flowers_. Surely this was a stupid joke. Nick turned back to the others and asked, "Has anyone seen who brought them?"

Hank, who was grinning broadly, said, "They were delivered. But what's more important: what's on the card?"

Nick reluctantly showed him the pink slip of paper. Hank's grin got even wider. "A secret admirer? Oh, that's too good.

"Very funny, Hank", replied Nick and he snatched the card back. "If I find out that someone of you sent me these flowers, there will be hell to pay."

Hank was now outright laughing at him and Nick had another retort already on his tongue when they got called out to another crime scene. Nick hastily deposited the card on his desk and hurried after Hank out of the precinct.

* * *

The next morning another bouquet made of sunflowers was waiting for Nick. There was again a little card attached to the flowers and again the "secret admirer" was responsible for the floral greetings. For a second Nick thought that maybe Juliette had sent the flowers, but he discarded this idea almost as fast as it had arisen. Sunflowers had been her favorite, but she didn't have any reason to send them to him. Their split had been mostly amiable, but they both kept their distance. It was a little bit easier this way. Nick suppressed a sigh and forcefully quashed this train of thought. In this direction only heartbreak awaited him. And there were more pressing matters to contend with. Nick probably should try to find out who was behind this flower-nonsense, but he had more important things to do. He shoved the flowers to the side of his desk and concentrated on his work. He would throw them away later.

* * *

The next morning Nick hurled a bouquet of orchids into his wastebasket. The sickly-sweet smell of the flowers was giving him a headache and today he was in no mood for this shit.

"What are you doing? Those flowers are gorgeous!"

Nick glowered at the protesting Hank, ripped the orchids out of the basket, and threw them onto his partner's desk. "Here! You take them."

"Temper, temper…"

Hank was laughing at him and Nick's scowl deepened. This secret admirer-business wasn't funny anymore. And he had the suspicion that at least Hank knew who had sent the flowers.

"You know what? Tell this jokester that everybody had his laugh and he can stop now."

"Man, I don't know who sent the orchids. I think it's nice. Flattering."

Nick wanted to wipe Hank's grin off his face, but a summons from Renard prevented him from further measures.

* * *

The next morning no flowers were in sight. Nick sighed in relief. He placed his coffee on his desk and booted up his computer. Reams and reams of paperwork were waiting for him today. He sorted through the various files when he saw a small, leather-bound book peeking out under them. Nick felt trepidation when he opened the book. It was love poetry. Nick was by no means an expert, but the little he read while thumbing through the pages seemed extremely kitschy. And on the front page was another inscription from the secret admirer: "True love is waiting for you".

Nick closed the book and wearily rubbed his eyes. At least there were no more flowers.

* * *

Thankfully Nick's weekend had been wholly unremarkable. No flowers, no love poetry. And when he arrived for work on Monday nothing untoward was in sight. Maybe his warning to Hank had dissuaded the prankster.

The next morning he still found nothing strange on his desk and Nick allowed himself to relax. Apparently the stupid joke had run its course.

TBC.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning Nick was running late. He balanced his keys, a travelling mug with coffee, and his cellphone in one hand as he stumbled out of his door. And he nearly fell over something on his doormat. With a suppressed curse he investigated the obstruction and stopped short. What the fuck. There was another bouquet of roses! Even bigger than the first one. And pinned to the bouquet was a photo. Nick leaned in to investigate. The picture showed himself. He was sitting on a park bench and talked with someone on the phone. Nick stared for a long, uncomprehending moment. How…? Cold dread wormed its way through Nick. Someone had staked him out! Someone had been watching him. Nick straightened and whirled around. Was somebody watching him right now? His skin crawled and he instinctively hunched his shoulders. Okay, this _definitely_ wasn't funny anymore.

Nick stormed into the station. Hank and Wu were shooting the breeze, which he ignored. He thrust the tattered roses into their direction and snarled, "You know what? It's enough! Sending me these damned flowers here was bad enough, but planting them in front of my door? Not okay! And…"

Hank interrupted him, "Dude, no one here sent you the flowers. Do we think it's funny? Hell, yeah, it's hilarious. Are we behind it? No. Looks like you really have picked up an admirer."

"It's hilarious? Well, is this _hilarious_ too?"

Nick showed them the photo. Their smiles fell away and Hank was all business, when he asked, "Where did you find that?"

"It was pinned to the flowers. Fuck. Please, if you know who is behind this, tell them to stop."

Wu said, "We don't know, Nick. Really. I don't think that it's anyone from the station."

"Do you have any friends who would prank you like that?"

Most of Nick's friends were in the force. The mutual friends of Juliette and him had mostly taken her side and he had distanced himself from them. He didn't want to interfere and Juliette needed every support she could get. And Monroe wouldn't do something like this to him, would he? So he shook his head. Hank frowned and asked, "Do you want us to investigate?"

Nick chewed his lower lip. He didn't feel comfortable knowing that someone had watched him, but was a police investigation really necessary? What if it really was just a tasteless joke? Was he too thin-skinned? His sense of humor was a bit dented after Juliette's departure, he had to admit. Nick finally said, "No. I guess I'll wait and see what happens next."

Hank looked dubious, but he didn't protest.

* * *

Nick rolled over and silenced his alarm. He stretched leisurely and then dragged himself into the bathroom. Another dreary day of paperwork was waiting for him. He almost wished that something Grimm-related would come up to relieve his boredom.

This morning Nick was on schedule, so he had time for breakfast. He was strapping his watch to his wrist as he entered the kitchen. He looked up from his task and stopped abruptly in front of his kitchen table. A basket was sitting there. A basket filled with chocolates and fruits. A basket that hadn't been there yesterday evening. Nick swallowed hard. Someone had been inside his home! Maybe someone was still here. Nick suddenly noticed that there was something else altered in the kitchen. The walls were plastered with photos of Nick in various locations, outfits, and poses.

His skin crawling, Nick bolted out of the kitchen to grab his gun. He systematically checked the house. His heartbeat thundered in his ears and he silently cursed himself. Why hadn't he heard the intruder? The intruder, that seemingly had spent quite a while inside the house. He was a Grimm after all! Wasn't he supposed to have some sort of Grimm-version of the Spidey-sense? God, if the intruder had been a hostile Wesen he could've been killed.

Nick returned to the kitchen. No one besides him was in the house. His backdoor was unlocked and it looked like someone had used a lock-pick on the door. Nick felt shaken. He felt violated. Someone had invaded his home and he hadn't been aware of it at the time. Nick put his gun away and investigated the basket. Another note from the admirer was attached with another meaningless platitude. Nick stared for a long moment at the basket and then he grabbed his phone.

-o-o-o-

"Where have you been, Nick?"

Nick, who was over three hours late, dropped into his chair and buried his face in his hands. His voice was muffled when he answered, "Yesterday night someone broke into my house."

"What!? Are you okay?"

Nick nodded. "Yeah. I was sleeping. It was the secret admirer. This time he left a gift basket on my kitchen table and papered the kitchen with pictures of me."

Hank didn't say anything for a while so Nick lowered his hands and looked over to his partner. Hank looked shocked. Nick sighed and explained further, "I called it in. We've found some fingerprints. With luck I'll soon know the asshole that invaded my home."

"Are you really okay, man?"

"Don't worry, Hank. It'll be alright."

At least Nick hoped so. He desperately wished that his life returned to normal. Or as normal as his life could get.

Four hours later Nick got a preliminary report concerning the break-in. The foreign fingerprints weren't in the system. Nick closed the file. Maybe he should ask Monroe if he'd give his house an once-over. Maybe the Blutbad could detect something.

* * *

The next day Nick's time was wholly occupied with another homicide, so he didn't call Monroe. And his admirer didn't make another peep. Maybe this time it was finally over.

TBC.


	4. Chapter 4

One day later Nick wearily dragged himself into the house. He was beat. Since Juliette had left he was resting poorly and the sleep deprivation was slowly catching up to him. He just wanted a hot shower, a cold beer, and his bed. Before he made his way up the stairs he checked the ground floor. Seeing that everything was untouched he relaxed a fraction.

After the shower and clad in comfortable sweatpants and a faded t-shirt Nick felt a little bit better. He made his way into his kitchen and grabbed a beer out of the almost empty fridge. He knew he should eat something, but he just wasn't hungry. He took a big swig of beer. Tonight liquid food was good enough for him. Nick grabbed his cell phone and thumbed through his contacts. Should he call Monroe? He took another swallow and grimaced. This beer tasted strange. Maybe it was spoiled. Maybe…

The cell phone cluttered to the counter. The bottle slipped out of Nick's fingers and spilled on the floor as he scrambled to fill a glass with water. He grabbed the container of salt out of the pantry while a silent litany of "_No, no, no, no, this can't be happening, no, no, no_" replayed itself over and over in his head. Nick started to feel fuzzy around the edges and he knew that his time was running out. The glass slipped out of his suddenly numb fingers and Nick stumbled sideways. The room was tilting crazily before his eyes and he was faintly aware that he fell.

-o-o-o-

Nick licked his dry lips. He was desperately thirsty and he had a strange chemical taste in his mouth. His shoulders and neck hurt. Had he fallen asleep on the couch again? He tried to shift his position, but something stopped him. What the hell was going on? Nick blinked his eyes open. His vision was blurry and it took several seconds to clear it. He was in his kitchen. Candles were placed around the room and bathed everything in a soft light. He sat in front of his table which was set. Nick became aware that soft music was playing and he smelled something sweet and floral. Nick sat on one of his kitchen chairs and his wrists were secured to it with his cuffs. Oh God, what had happened here? His breathing got faster and hot panic flared in him.

"Oh! You're finally awake!"

Nick jerked in surprise and looked towards the source of the bright voice. A woman in a yellow dress stood in the doorway. She looked wholly unremarkable and Nick was pretty sure that he had never seen her before. Was she his secret admirer? Was she the one who had photographed him?

The woman came into the kitchen. Nick licked his lips again and croaked, "W-What are you doing?"

A smile spread on her face and she said, "I've fixed us some dinner. I hope you like fish?"

What was she talking about!?

"Untie me."

She was still smiling. "Can't."

Maybe Nick could trick her somehow in freeing him, but his head was unnervingly empty. He probably should try to win her trust or something. He cleared his scratchy throat and asked cautiously, "What's your name?"

Apparently this had been the wrong question, because her smile fell away and sudden anger simmered in her eyes. At least she was no Wesen. She closed the space between them with a few fast steps and slapped him. As far as slaps went it wasn't particularly hard, but it still stung. She practically hissed, "You know who I am. My name is Millie Fields."

Nick stared uncomprehendingly at her, which seemed to infuriate her further. She grabbed his hair and jerked his head back. Nick winced and she shouted, "You know who I am! You know it! And you'll never forget me!"

Nick carefully ventured, "I - I know who you are. You sent me the flowers, right?"

Millie's grip loosened a bit and she calmly asked, "Did you like them?"

"Yes! Yes, I liked them."

"Then why did you throw them all away?"

Fuck. She had him there. Nick racked his brain for a plausible answer, but he came up with nothing. What the fuck was wrong with him? This was deadly serious and he was floundering around like a goddamn idiot. He had to step up his game, if he wanted to come out on top of this. Millie watched him the whole time like a hawk, then shrugged suddenly, and said, "Doesn't matter now. Now we're finally together. We're together."

She leaned forward and Nick's panic resurfaced. He tried to turn his head away, but she still had his hair and she tightened her grip again. She pressed her lips to his. Millie didn't seem to mind that he didn't respond to the forced kiss. She released his hair and straddled him instead. She started to caress his face and her lips trailed over his cheeks and jaw. Nick shuddered in disgust and he almost didn't recognize his voice, as he pleaded, "Stop. Please, stop. I don't want that."

"Shhh."

Millie was kissing him again and Nick desperately tried to liberate his hands. The cuffs cut deeply into the soft skin of his wrists and he felt blood running down his fingers, but he just couldn't free himself. Fuck! Why had he bought these goddamn sturdy chairs?

"Stop…"

Nick was afraid. He was a cop and he was a Grimm. He already had seen enough crazy shit to last him several lifetimes. And now he was sitting in his own damn kitchen and shook in his boots because of this unassuming looking woman. But Nick instinctively knew that reason wouldn't deter her. And he was helpless at the moment. She would hurt him, if he couldn't get loose fast.

Millie's hands were wandering over his torso. They slipped under his thin shirt and stroked over his chest. She pressed herself closer and her breath tickled Nick's ear.

"Don't do that. Please."

Millie smiled broadly at him, stroked his cheek, and reassured him, "You'll like it."

She slipped off his lap and knelt before him on the floor. "I think we'll skip dinner and begin with dessert."

She grabbed the waistband of his sweats. Nick's fear almost chocked him. She couldn't be serious. This wasn't happening to him. This just wasn't happening.

"No! Stop!"

TBC.


	5. Chapter 5

Nick's phone was ringing again. This was the fourth time in the last hour or so. Maybe it had been an hour and a half. He wasn't sure. He wasn't sure about anything. He dully stared ahead and watched Millie putter away in his kitchen. After she had finished with him, she had practically force-fed him some of the lukewarm fish, and all the while she had happily nattered on and on. Nick had barely reacted, but that hadn't bothered her.

Millie placed a glass with milky looking water on the table. She wandered over to Nick and stroked his hair.

"It's getting late. I think we should turn in for the night."

Nick didn't even look up. He had nothing to say. Millie stroked him again and said, "At first you have to drink this. It's good for you."

More drugs, most probably. Nick knew that he should fight her in some way, but he didn't seem to be able to summon any strength. As long as he was cuffed, he couldn't really do anything. His wrists were shredded, but he hadn't been able to free himself. Any struggle against her was pointless, wasn't it?

Millie had the glass in her hand and she came closer with it, when someone pounded on his door. Nick and Millie both startled.

"Nick! Nick? Are you alright?"

_Monroe_! Nick's brain was still scrabbling to catch up, when he heard himself already shout, "Monroe! Help me!"

Not even a second later he heard wood splintering and his door banged violently open. Millie was shrieking with rage. Or fear. Or both. Suddenly Monroe was in the kitchen and he shoved Millie aside. He was in front of Nick and he was saying something to him, but Nick couldn't really hear him. Millie was screeching in the background and everything started to feel fuzzy again. But how? He hadn't drunk Millie's drug cocktail. Monroe was suddenly very close and Nick's hands were free. His shoulders hurt terribly and his wrists were a bloody mess. Monroe's big hand rested gently on his shoulder and he talked again to Nick. Nick swallowed hard and forced himself to focus.

"… okay, buddy. It's okay. You're safe now. You're safe. She won't hurt you again."

Nick nodded faintly. As long as Monroe was here, nothing bad would happen to him. Monroe hoisted him carefully to his feet and helped him into the living room. Nick felt dizzy and he desperately clutched at Monroe, who was soothing him again. He deposited Nick onto the couch and wrapped a blanket around him.

"… Nick. Nick." Nick looked up. "Stay here, okay? I'll be right back."

Nick nodded again and Monroe was gone. He heard the Blutbad talk with someone – Millie? – and then he was back. Monroe wrapped an arm carefully around Nick's trembling shoulders.

-o-o-o-

The next events were vague in Nick's recollections. Monroe had apparently called the cops and an ambulance, which arrived almost simultaneously. Nick was loaded into the ambulance and suddenly Monroe was nowhere to be seen, which caused him to panic. He was probably sedated, because after this he remembered nothing else.

TBC.


	6. Chapter 6

Nick stood in the doorway to his kitchen and he fought his rising queasiness. In this room he had once been so happy and now he could barely make himself enter it. It was ridiculous! It was still his kitchen after all. But the longer he stared at the room, the stronger the tidal wave of his memories got. Nick turned sharply and retreated into his living room. He perched on his couch and tried to stem the flow of his recollections. He didn't want to think about what that woman had done to him. She had… Nick's hands curled into fists. The motion sent stabs of pain through his bandaged wrists, but he ignored them. Fuck! If he couldn't even label what she had done in the safety of his own head, how was he supposed to leave all this behind? He couldn't forget it. He had tried and tried, but the memories of this goddamn night lurked in every corner of his brain. Intellectually Nick knew that he had to deal with the assault, if he ever wanted to get over it, but he just couldn't bring himself to talk about what had happened.

In the hospital they had sent him a psychologist. Dr. Freeman had been a non-threatening looking, middle-aged man, who had a soothing voice, and who had patiently tried to get Nick to talk with no real success. Nick didn't doubt that the doctor just wanted to help him, but the words just wouldn't come. The hospital had seemed oppressive and Nick had released himself as early as possible. And now he was sitting at home, because Captain Renard refused to let Nick come back to work. He insisted that Nick was taking some sick leave. As if that would make anything better.

Nick looked out of the window. It was getting dark. Unease rippled through him. Millie had been arrested and he knew that nothing could happen to him, but he wasn't sure if he'd be able to endure another night alone in the house. In the dark the memories crowded even closer. And he couldn't push his fear easily away like he did so often at daytime.

Nick collected his cell phone and his keys. Without a backward glance he left the house.

-o-o-o-

Nick uneasily shifted from one foot to the other and he huddled deeper into his hoodie. The wind was biting and he probably should have worn a warmer jacket. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. He hadn't seen Monroe since his timely rescue and he wasn't sure if he was welcome here. Maybe the Blutbad didn't want to see him. But still… Nick figured he ought to thank Monroe for his help. That was the least he could do. Nick tentatively knocked on the door in front of him. The door opened immediately. Nick blinked in surprise and stuttered out a greeting. Monroe scrutinized him and then said, "Come in, man. You look half-frozen."

Nick shuffled over the doorstep and let Monroe herd him into the kitchen and into a chair. Monroe got two cups out of a cupboard and started preparing some tea. Nick just watched him for a long moment and finally said, "I… I just wanted to thank you, you know. For your help. Back when…" Nick lapsed into pained silence and shifted uneasily on his seat. Monroe placed a steaming mug in front of him and said, "Don't mention it, dude."

He took a seat as well and scrutinized Nick again, who felt increasingly self-conscious under this steady regard. Monroe sipped at his tea.

"How're you doing, Nick?"

Oh, here it was. The question Nick had come to absolutely _hate_ in the last week. A sliver of annoyance twisted through him.

"I'm fine."

"You're _fine_."

Nick bristled instantly. He didn't like Monroe's tone. And he resented this goddamn prodding! Why did everybody around him try to make him vomit up his goddamn feelings? As if that would make him feel better! He just wanted to have a little company. _Silent_ company. Maybe he should buy a dog.

Monroe took another mouthful of tea and said, "Apparently we're not using the same dictionary here, because your 'fine' has apparently a totally different meaning than _my_ 'fine'. You pretty much look like shit, Nick."

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

"When did you last sleep? And I mean really sleep and not napping a bit. And you've lost weight. Are you eating?"

"That's none of your business!"

Nick couldn't hide the bitter resentment in his voice and he glared at Monroe, who calmly watched him with understanding eyes. Nick instantly felt like an asshole. Monroe had saved his ungrateful ass and tried to help him now. Nick lowered his eyes and fiddled with his mug.

"I'm just not hungry, okay? And I sleep."

Poorly, very poorly, but it was sleep nonetheless. Monroe looked unconvinced, but he dropped the subject.

"How's Juliette holding up?"

"She, uh, she's in Boston. She left two months ago."

"Oh, dude…" The compassion in Monroe's eyes nearly did Nick in. "Have you told her what happened to you?"

Nick swallowed hard and shook his head. "We're… We're not talking anymore. And I don't want to burden her with my problems. It doesn't matter."

Monroe looked dubious, but again he didn't dig deeper.

"How's it going at work?"

"Don't know. I'm still on sick leave."

"You don't sound very happy about this."

"It's bullshit. I can still do my job, but Renard insists that I take it easy. Take it easy! Ridiculous! I'd rather be back at work. I'm not sick after all."

Monroe nodded in understanding and suddenly asked, "You taking any medication?"

Nick stared in surprise. _What_? That had come out of nowhere. "No, I'm not."

"Good."

Monroe rose and went over to the fridge. He retrieved two microbrews and placed one in front of Nick, who couldn't help but smile a bit.

-o-o-o-

Nick woke with a start. His heart hammered in his chest and he felt faint. He sat up and fumbled for the lamp on his bedside table. His questing hand encountered only thin air and despair shot through his chest. What was going on? Where was he? This wasn't his bed.

The door to the bedroom opened suddenly and soft light spilled into the room. Monroe poked his head inside and asked, "Are you alright, Nick?"

Nick's memory returned. He was in Monroe's guest bedroom. It was okay. Millie was in custody. It was okay.

"Hey." Monroe sat on the edge of the bed and placed a gentle hand on Nick's shoulder. "Did you have a nightmare?"

"N-No. Yes. I don't know. I…"

To Nick's utter mortification he felt sudden tears welling in his eyes. He just wanted to feel like his old self again. He just wanted everything to go away. Monroe wrapped him in his arms and held him close. Nick knew that he probably should pull himself together, but he couldn't muster the strength. It felt quite good in Monroe's arms. Safe.

TBC.


	7. Chapter 7

"Hey, Dan! You're up for a drink after work?"

"No can do. I'm meeting Sarah."

"Ooh! The third date?"

Nick listened with half an ear to the conversation between Dan Simons and Elliot Phibbs while he was doing some paperwork. Nick wasn't really friends with them, but they were amiable with each other. The whole station knew about Sarah, the newest woman of Dan's dreams, so the two officers didn't bother to lower their voices.

"Yeah, man. The third date."

"Good luck then. But be careful. You don't want to end up tied to a chair at the mercy of your Sarah."

Deafening silence descended over the station. Nick felt like someone had suddenly dumped a bucket of ice water over him. And he could feel the eyes of his colleagues on him. A hot wave of humiliation washed over Nick and he wished the ground would swallow him whole. He forced himself not to turn around. He simply kept on working on his reports. Maybe this all would go away, if he ignored it.

"Phibbs! Miller! Into my office!"

Renard's angry voice shattered the spell and normal activity hastily resumed. Nick kept his gaze fixed to his computer screen. He could do this.

-o-o-o-

"You got a problem with Nick, you got a problem with me, understood!?"

Hank rolled into the station like a thundercloud. He directly marched over to Dan and Elliot, who were still nursing their wounded pride. The captain had apparently reamed them a new one, if the amount of muffled shouting had been any indication. Nick, who had valiantly pretended to be wholly absorbed in his work, stopped the pretense immediately and worriedly watched his partner. Hank's unwavering support meant a lot to Nick, but he didn't want for Hank to get in trouble.

Dan placatingly raised his hands and said, "It was a stupid joke, Hank. We didn't think. We're sorry." He turned towards Nick. "We're sorry, Nick."

"Damn right it was stupid!"

"Ain't that cute. Hank is protecting the honor of his little girlfriend." Elliot's sneer was ugly and Nick idly wondered what he had done to the other man to elicit this mean reaction. "What's the matter, _Nicky_? Can't speak for yourself anymore? Hiding behind the Captain, hiding behind Hank. What kind of man does that? Well, apparently the kind of man that gets _raped_ by a woman!"

An inarticulate sound tore out of Hank's throat and he lunged towards Elliot. Nick bolted out of his chair and he tried to interpose himself between Hank and Elliot. Dan likewise tried to stop the burgeoning brawl and thankfully a few other officers descended into the fray. The door to the Captain's office banged open and the man emerged again.

"What in God's name is going on here!?"

-o-o-o-

Nick knew that he couldn't hide forever in the restroom, but he was trying. He didn't know if he could face his co-workers ever again. This was only his third day back at work and everything had already gone to hell. He hadn't even known that it was possible to feel this humiliated, but even worse was the barely concealed pity in the eyes of the others. Why couldn't they treat him like before? The only ones that didn't make him feel bad were Hank, Wu, and surprisingly the Captain.

The door to the restroom opened and Nick hunched his shoulders. Hank entered and asked, "You okay, Nick?"

He simply nodded. Hank frowned and looked like he wanted to protest, but then he just shook his head and said, "I'm heading out to a crime scene. You wanna come along?"

God, _yes_! He would do almost anything to get out of the precinct.

"I'll get my jacket."

-o-o-o-

The crime scene was pretty straightforward. It looked like they had a suicide on their hands. Nick and Hank easily fell back into their established work pattern and for the first time since the assault Nick felt almost like himself again. This was what he loved. This was his vocation.

TBC.


	8. Chapter 8

"Can I come in?"

Monroe stepped aside and let Nick pass into the house. Delicious smells were wafting out of his kitchen and Nick relaxed as he soaked up the homey atmosphere of Monroe's house. He brandished a six-pack of microbrew and said, "I've brought you an offering."

Monroe smiled. "An offering that's much appreciated. Are you hungry?"

Nick's appetite was still almost non-existent, but he found it easier to force himself to eat at least a little bit than to hash it out every lunch or dinner time with Monroe or Hank. So he just nodded and followed the Blutbad into the kitchen.

-o-o-o-

"So, how does it feel to be back at work?"

Nick's smile was more like a grimace and he said, "It's great."

"Dude, why are you doing this? You know that I have better senses than the average human."

Nick lowered his fork in surprise. "You can smell when I'm lying?"

"Not really. But I can hear your elevated heartbeat. And I can interpret body language."

"What has my body language do to with it?"

"The moment I asked you my question your posture changed. Before you were fairly relaxed, after I mentioned your work, your tension was back, you hunched your shoulders, and you broke eye-contact. Looks to me like you were expecting an attack and tried to make yourself smaller to make less of a target. And your smile didn't reach your eyes. It looked quite sad to me."

Nick was stunned into silence. He awkwardly cleared his throat and resumed playing with his pasta.

"It was pretty awful. At work, I mean."

"What happened?"

"One of the officers, he, um, he said…" Nick's voice had gotten lower and lower. He was pretty sure that a human wouldn't be able to understand his words, but Monroe as a Blutbad didn't have these limitations. "He made fun about what this woman did to me."

Monroe thankfully didn't press him for details, he just asked, "What did the others do?"

"Hank wanted to smash his head in. And the Captain came down hard on him."

"What did you do?"

"I… I did nothing." A self-deprecating smile flashed over Nick's face. "I hid in the restroom."

"Why?"

"What's with the Spanish Inquisition today?"

Monroe shrugged. "We're friends. I just want to know how you're doing."

_Friends_. Nick liked the sound of that, but Monroe's questioning still didn't sit right with him.

"Are you trying to psychoanalyze me?", he asked with a small laugh. Monroe didn't laugh or smile, he just asked, "Are you seeing a therapist?"

Nick pushed his plate away and he made to rise. "I don't want to talk about it."

The Captain actually had insisted that Nick see a shrink, which he adamantly refused. He'd manage without.

"C'mon, dude. I'm not analyzing you. I'm just curious."

"Curious? About what?"

"I mean, you're a Grimm. Well, a Baby Grimm, but still. I'm no real expert on Grimms, but wouldn't fighting back be your first instinct?"

Nick sank back into his chair. His first instinct had been to hide himself. Did that mean that something in his genetic Grimm-make-up was faulty? He had suspected from the start that Aunt Marie wouldn't be impressed with his performance. Most of the time Nick felt like a fraud and he had no idea what he was doing. He had mostly operated on instinct, but if this instinct wasn't true, how was he supposed to follow his calling or fate or whatever bullshitty name you could pin on this Grimm-business? Nick had the nasty suspicion that he was pretty much a disappointment as far as Grimms were concerned. The lacking killer instinct wasn't a problem in _his_ book, but why hadn't he been able to better defend himself from the woman? Why hadn't he just faced Elliot and put an end to his taunting? Did his inability to defend himself bother Monroe? Grimms were supposed to be these scary creatures and Nick had been cut down to size quite efficiently.

"I'm sorry, Nick. I didn't mean to upset you."

Nick looked up. "I'm not upset."

Monroe gave him a long look. Nick looked away and started to fiddle with the hem of his shirt. He finally said, "I guess, I didn't confront him, because… well, because I felt ashamed."

"There's nothing to be ashamed about, Nick. It wasn't your fault."

"I know that! I know. But… sometimes… Most of the time I feel like it _is_ my fault. I should have fought back harder. I-I'm a detective for Christ's sake! I should have been smarter. Stronger. How could she get the drop on me like that? I'm a Grimm. Aren't we supposed to be these unbeatable fighting machines? There's something wrong with me, I guess. Elliot was right to call me out. I'm a disgrace." Nick's vision got blurry and he swiped an arm over his eyes. "And I'm crying again in front of you. That's the second time. I really shouldn't turn that into a habit."

Monroe rose and came over to Nick's side. He gently pulled him to his feet and into his arms. Nick went willingly. One of Monroe's big hands soothingly rubbed his back. Monroe spoke into Nick's hair, "You are not a disgrace. What this crazy bitch did to you was not your fault. She got the drop on you. That can happen to anybody. Even to detectives and even to Grimms. There is no reason to be ashamed of anything, Nick. You didn't do anything wrong. And this Elliot sounds like a goddamn asshole. Remind me to eat his face the next time we'll run into him. Oh, and by the way: this is actually the third time that you're crying in front of me. But who's keeping count? And don't worry, I won't tell the other Wesen about it."

Nick chuckled watery and clutched the Blutbad tighter. He never wanted to let go.

"Can I spend the night here?"

"Sure."

TBC.


	9. Chapter 9

"Dude, you look whiter than the wall behind you."

Nick's head swiveled around. Monroe strode up to him and took a seat beside him on the uncomfortable bench. Nick's right leg was bouncing with nervous energy and his stomach was roiling. For a moment he thought that he'd hurl again, but the urge thankfully passed. Monroe rested his hand on Nick's bouncing knee to still it and asked, "You doing good?"

"I'm nervous. I-I don't know if I can do it."

"Of course you can do it."

The conviction in his voice and eyes warmed Nick and made him feel a tiny bit better. He offered Monroe a shaky smile and softly said, "Thanks for coming."

Monroe gently squeezed his knee and returned the smile.

Hank strode up to them. He stared a long but thankfully silent moment at Monroe and then said to Nick, "We should go back inside. The recess is almost over."

Nick stood and he reluctantly followed Hank back into the courtroom. Before he disappeared inside, he turned back to Monroe and asked, "Are you waiting for me?"

"I'll be right here."

Nick felt torn. On the one hand he felt better – safer – with Monroe close by, on the other hand he knew that the Blutbad was probably able to hear his testimony through the wall. Monroe had already seen Nick at his lowest, but he hadn't witnessed the actual assault. What would he do if Monroe disdained him after hearing about that night?

Hank's low voice disrupted his increasingly frantic musings, "What is he doing here?"

"Moral support, I suppose. He's a friend."

"A _friend_? He was a suspect, Nick."

Nick gave Hank a pleading look. "He didn't do anything wrong, Hank. I met him after we closed the case and apologized and somehow we ended up friends. It's okay."

There was still disapproval in Hank's eyes, but he dropped the subject. They took their seats and Nick's leg resumed its nervous bouncing.

-o-o-o-

"Hey. I was looking for you."

Nick stepped aside and let Monroe enter. After the trial had ended Nick had practically fled the courthouse. He had wandered for hours aimlessly through the streets of Portland. He had just needed some time on his own.

Nick gratefully registered that Monroe headed into the living room. He was able to enter his kitchen again without getting a panic attack, but he still didn't feel very comfortable in the room. Maybe he should start looking for a new home. His therapist had encouraged Nick, when he had talked about it in their last session.

Nick retrieved two beers and followed Monroe, who had made himself comfortable on the couch. They sipped their beers in companionable silence. Nick finally asked, "Are you checking on me?"

Monroe didn't even bother to deny anything. "Yup. I just wanted to make sure, you're okay."

This near-constant mother-hening annoyed Nick to no end, but with Monroe it was mostly bearable. This probably had to do with the fact that the Blutbad didn't pity Nick. Sure, he was compassionate, but he didn't treat Nick like he was some kind of charity case.

Nick shrugged. "I'm kinda okay, I guess."

He was actually better than he himself had expected. Had his testimony been harrowing and embarrassing? Sure, but it could have been worse. Millie Fields had freely confessed. She had told everything, which meant that Nick's own testimony had been cut mercifully short.

"How did you feel seeing her again?"

Nick started picking at the label on the bottle. "You know, it's funny. I thought that I'd be… I don't know, that I'd be afraid or something. But I actually felt mostly sorry for her."

"Because she's still in love with you?"

This confirmed Nick's suspicion that Monroe had been able to listen in to the trial. He nodded and answered, "Yeah. I mean, she doesn't even know me. How can she love me? But what's even worse, she thinks that I'm in love with _her_. She still doesn't get what she did to me."

Confessing the next thing wasn't easy for Nick, so he sipped on his beer to stall for time. Finally he said, "You know what really gets me? I actually know her."

"What?"

"I don't really know her, but I met her before. She was witness in a case of mine."

"So she wasn't a crazy stranger that was overwhelmed by your stunningly good looks?"

Nick couldn't help but smile a bit. "You think I'm stunningly good-looking? Aw, I'm flattered." Nick sobered again. "Anyway. I think I really dropped the ball on this one. I didn't recognize her. If I'd paid better attention…"

Monroe interrupted him, "What would have that changed, Nick?"

Nick sighed. "Probably nothing. But still… I'm a trained detective. I'm a Grimm, for fuck's sake! I should have been more observant."

"Don't do that to yourself, Nick. Don't beat yourself up like this. What happened wasn't your fault. It wasn't your fault."

Nick chewed the inside of his cheek and nodded. He knew that. If only he could believe it with the same conviction as Monroe.

TBC.


	10. Chapter 10

"Witches? Really? I don't really know why I'm this surprised, but come on. Witches."

"What can I say, man? We're all for diversity in the Wesen-world."

Nick and Monroe were trudging through the woods looking for a witch. All over Portland people had been afflicted with scary and strange illnesses. A young mother of two had been suddenly blinded with no apparent medical reason behind it. A middle-aged college professor had been paralyzed from the waist down. A little boy had lost his voice. Another woman had lost her sense of taste and smell. Etcetera, etcetera. It had taken quite some time until Nick had learned about these strange cases and it had been very clear to him that these sicknesses didn't have a mundane cause. Maybe it was his Grimm-instinct, but he had been sure. He had run his idea by Monroe, who had reluctantly agreed to Nick's theory. A bit of research had revealed a possible culprit: a witch. According to Aunt Marie's records witches were creatures of solitude. And they were insanely dangerous. More than one Grimm had fallen victim to their poisons and spells. Nonetheless Nick was determined to end these mysterious illnesses. And the only way was the death of the witch. So Nick had collected a few weapons, Monroe, and had made his way into these damned woods. He would never say it out loud, but Nick felt nervous. This was his first Grimm-case since the assault. Nick just wondered if he had lost his touch. At least he had Monroe for backup.

"What are we looking for? A gingerbread house?"

Monroe gave a longsuffering sigh and said, "Dude, really? You really went there? We're looking for some sort of cottage. And by the way, I can't believe that I'm doing this again."

"This?"

"Getting mixed up in your Grimm-business."

Nick couldn't help but smile. "You enjoy getting mixed up in my Grimm-business."

Monroe grumbled something probably not very complimentary under his breath, but Nick ignored him. Instead he grabbed Monroe's arm to stop him and whispered, "Do you think that's the witch's hideout?"

Monroe's eyes followed Nick's outstretched arm. The Blutband pondered the structure in front of them. The little hut was situated in the shadow of several large trees and mostly covered with moss and ivy. A casual passerby probably wouldn't take any notice of the building. Monroe finally replied, "Well, it's more a hovel than a cottage but it looks like we hit the jackpot."

"Can you tell if the witch is inside?"

Monroe closed his eyes and seemed to listen intently. He scented the air and finally said, "I'm pretty sure she isn't in."

"Pretty sure?"

"95 percent."

"Well, that's good enough for me."

With these words Nick took off towards the hut. Monroe followed him after a moment's hesitation. Nick grabbed his axe tighter (witches could only be killed by beheadings) and readied himself to enter the building. He kicked the flimsy door with practiced ease open and slipped inside. Nobody was in sight. The interior of the hut was disquieting to say the least. There were hundreds of strange bottles, flasks, and jars, animal carcasses hung from the rafters, several yellowed skulls were grinning in Nick's general direction, and the smell was vomit-inducing. Nick didn't want to image how bad this stink was for Monroe with his far more superior nose.

"Oh, _Christ_! This is fucking _horrible_. And I don't even get paid for this shit!"

"Well, actually neither am I", muttered Nick.

Nick heard Monroe gagging outside and he grimaced in sympathy. Apparently witches were _really_ nasty. Nick stepped deeper into the hut. Something crunched beneath his boots. The earthen floor was liberally sprinkled with small bones. Nick desperately hoped it just were animal bones. Was that a human hand in the corner? Nick grimaced again. As a homicide detective he had seen some disturbing stuff, but this hut really was something else.

Nick turned abruptly. What had that sound been?

"Monroe?"

Nothing. Nick shot out of the hut. What he saw outside froze the blood in his veins. Monroe lay sprawled on the ground and a woman was crouched over him. She wore a light blue summer dress and no shoes. Her long blonde hair fell loose over her shoulders. She didn't look very witchy, but when she raised her head Nick could see pointed, black teeth and glowing eyes. Nick glimpsed her hands. They ended in sharp claws and they were smeared with blood. Monroe's blood. The witch showed a terrible smile. Nick saw red.

"Monroe!"

Nick attacked. The witch hissed something and slashed at him with her claws. Nick batted her hands with the axe away and punched her as hard as he could. His hand felt like he had hit a solid wall, but the witch screeched and tumbled backwards. Nick swung his axe and caught her high on her left upper arm. Not enough. He attacked again. The witch managed to get her feet under her and Nick kicked her viciously. She curled into herself and presented her slender neck. Nick chopped down with all his strength. Her head plopped to the forest floor and her body sagged into itself. Nick had the axe still raised and he waited for a few tense seconds. She stayed down.

Nick dropped the axe and hurried over to Monroe's side. He gently turned the Blutbad onto his back. There was a gaping hole high on the right side of his chest. Nick stared for a shocked second and then he struggled out of his jacket and his shirt. Several buttons flew in every direction, but Nick didn't care. He balled the shirt up and pressed it against the wound to stem the flow of blood. Monroe groaned in pain.

"It'll be alright. Don't worry, Monroe. It'll be alright."

Nick fumbled for his phone. "I'll call help. Just… Just stay with me, okay? I'll get us outta here. Don't worry. Just stay with me."

No reaction from the Blutbad. Nick's shirt was already soaked in blood and he added more pressure to the wound. He hated to hurt Monroe, but he had to stop this bleeding. Weren't Blutbaden supposed to heal fast? But what if that injury was too big for a fast recovery? Nick finally had gotten hold of his phone. His battery was dead. Nick wanted to howl with frustration.

"No! Fuck!"

He leaned over Monroe to check his face. The Blutbad was unnaturally pale and a sheen of sweat covered his features.

"Just don't die. Please, don't leave me here alone. Don't leave me."

Nick started to pat Monroe down. He was looking for the Blutbad's cell phone. His touch seemed to have roused Monroe, because he croaked softly, "Nick…"

"Monroe! Don't worry; it'll be okay, man."

"The w-witch?"

"Just relax. She's dead. Where's your phone, Monroe? I need to call help."

Monroe lifted his hand and feebly grasped Nick's wrist. It was obvious that this simple gesture cost him a lot of strength. He swallowed audibly and murmured, "No. Just give me a minute. Don't call."

"What are you talking about? You need medical attention!"

"Y-Yes, I know. But not here. We need to get away from here first."

Nick already had a retort on his tongue, when it clicked. The witch. How the fuck was he supposed to explain the beheaded woman? The murder weapon not only belonged to him, it also sported his fingerprints. And nobody would be able to see that he had killed a witch. They would assume he had slaughtered an innocent woman.

"Can you walk?"

"In a minute. And I'll need your help."

"I'll carry you, if I have to."

Monroe's lips twitched into a tiny smile. "That I wanna see. Runt."

"I'm no _runt_, dude. My height is perfectly normal. Not everybody can be a freaking giant like you."

"What about Hank? Or your Captain?"

"Oh, do shut up."

Monroe's smile had widened a fraction and Nick felt something ease in his chest. Panic still lurked there, but it didn't feel as all-consuming as before. Monroe was still with him. They would make it.

"Okay. I think I'm good to go."

Nick helped Monroe sit up. Accompanied by a lot of groaning, grunting, and barely suppressed cursing they managed to get Monroe back to his feet. The Blutbad was swaying dangerously and he rested most of his considerable weight on Nick, who swayed himself for a few seconds and then managed to get them going. With Monroe pressed this close to him, Nick felt how cold he had been without his jacket. A thin t-shirt was definitely not the right attire for this weather. After a few strenuous minutes Nick finally gasped, "Can you give me your phone?"

Monroe shook his head. "Not here."

"We've gotten far enough, man. You need a doctor. Now."

"And how do we explain my injury?"

"I'll think about something."

"Nick…"

"No! I won't lose you, you hear me. I'm going to call in help."

"I'm not going anywhere, Nick. And I don't need a doctor. I just need a few stitches and some rest and I'm as good as new."

"Monroe, what… No. No! I won't play Doctor Frankenstein for you. You're going to a hospital."

Monroe heaved a pained sigh. "And tell them what, precisely? Don't you think the doctors won't get a bit suspicious when my wound heals up in a few hours? That's not exactly normal."

Nick stubbornly shook his head and Monroe tried again, "Dude, it will be no problem. Do you really think a lightweight like a witch could kill me? Pah, ridiculous."

Nick was wavering. As much as he was afraid for Monroe, he knew that the Blutbad was right. How were they supposed to explain things? And it was even more complicated than Monroe knew. The guys at the station had an eye on Nick. If his name cropped up in the proceedings at the hospital, they'd descend en masse there. They would ask a lot of questions, questions Nick really didn't have an answer to. Maybe he should just listen to Monroe. He surely knew more about Blutbaden physiology than Nick. So he relented, "Okay. We're doing it your way."

TBC.


	11. Chapter 11

When they finally reached Nick's car he felt so relieved that he nearly cried. Monroe had rested more and more of his weight on Nick and he had fallen scarily silent. In fact he seemed barely coherent. Nick's fear had returned with a vengeance and he was sorely tempted to back out of their deal, but he restrained himself. Monroe had placed his trust in him and he wouldn't disappoint the Blutbad.

Nick fumbled for his car keys. For a truly frightening second he thought he had lost them, but then he fished them out of his pants pocket. He unlocked the doors and helped Monroe into the passenger seat. He tried to be as gentle as possible, but it was obvious that he was hurting the Blutbad. Nick gritted his teeth. He finally got hold of Monroe's cell phone. While he rounded the car, he thumbed through the contacts. There.

After the fourth ring a female voice cheerfully asked, "Monroe! How are you doing?"

"Rosalee? It's Nick Burkhardt."

"Nick? But how did you…"

Nick interrupted her, "I'll explain it later, I promise. But now I need your help, Rosalee. Can you meet me at Monroe's? Please, it's important."

"I'll be there as fast as I can."

-o-o-o-

"You know, this looks pretty painful."

Nick startled awake and hissed in discomfort, when his back muscles cramped. He had fallen asleep in the chair, he had dragged to the side of Monroe's bed, and now he was paying the price. He stretched to relieve some of the pain and said, "The sacrifices I'm making for you. How're you feeling?"

"Tired and a bit woozy."

Monroe looked unnaturally pale and a slight frown marred his forehead.

"How bad is the pain?"

"It's okay. So what's the verdict, Doctor Frankenstein?"

Nick smiled. "I'm just Florence Nightingale here. Doctor Frankenstein left a few hours ago. She said you'll be okay. Are you thirsty?"

Monroe nodded and Nick helped prop him up with a few strategically arranged pillows. He handed the Blutbad a glass of water. While he was slowly sipping, Monroe asked, "She?"

"I called Rosalee. I hope that's okay."

Monroe looked a bit surprised, but he just said, "Sure. How late is it?"

"It's almost three in the morning."

"What about the witch?"

"Don't worry. I took care of everything while you were out. I erased our traces. And I've heard that the curse victims all recovered mysteriously."

"Thank God this is over."

Nick could only concur. And he was so glad that Monroe was on the mend, he barely found the words to express it. He had thanked Rosalee more than profusely for her help.

"Dude, what's with your hand?"

"Um." Nick looked down to his right hand, which was red and swollen around his first two metacarpals. "My ancestors neglected to mention that witch jaws are apparently made of Adamantium."

Monroe's soft chuckle was suddenly cut short by a sharp gasp of pain. Nick took the glass out of his shaking hands and helped Monroe to recline.

"Easy. You should rest some. I'll be here."

Monroe's eyes closed. The lines of pain on his face eased a bit and Nick released the breath he had been holding. They were okay. Nick took Monroe's hand in his own and he smiled when Monroe squeezed gently.

TBC.


	12. Chapter 12

Nick opened the box labeled "books" and started to place them into the shelf. His furniture was already in its place, thanks to the help of Hank and some other colleagues from the station. After the nasty episode with Elliot most of the station had been very solicitous towards Nick. At first he had balked at this treatment, but after a few days he had resigned to his fate. He didn't need to be babied in any way but this was way better than the alternative. And now things were almost back to normal.

"Oh my God! You own 'The Da Vinci Code'? _Dude_."

Monroe, who looked over his shoulder, couldn't have sounded more scandalized if Nick had put a taxidermied Blutbad into his shelf.

"_What_? It's a gripping novel, okay?"

"Man, we really have to work on your reading tastes."

Nick snorted. "Not everybody likes to spend his precious downtime with thrillers like 'The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire' or 'Ulysses'."

Now it was Monroe's turn to snort and he murmured, "Philistine."

Nick chuckled to himself and resumed his shelving.

"What is this?"

Nick looked over. Monroe was studying Nick's notes that were lying on his couch.

"I checked some things at the trailer."

"I don't think that dragons really exist, dude."

Nick grinned. "Well, according to the records of my ancestors they _did_ exist. They smote the last ones at the beginning of the 19th century in Eastern Europe."

"Ooh, correct verb conjugation. You have no idea what that does to me, dude."

Nick started laughing, he couldn't help himself. He turned to look at Monroe, who was watching him with this fond little smile that never failed to do strange things to Nick's insides. One could almost say that Nick had butterflies in his stomach. And Nick had observed that this fond little smile was only aimed at him. It seemed to be a special Nick-smile. And Nick liked it. A lot.

"Why are you researching dragons? You wanna look for one?"

"Can't. Because a) they are extinct, and b) I'm not fucking insane. I was just curious. And I want to be better prepared for the future."

"Well, that's uncharacteristically sensible of you. Color me impressed."

"You suck, you know that?"

Nick turned back to his books and listened to Monroe's laughter. Monroe came up to him and leaned against the shelf.

"Nick?"

"Hm?"

"I want to kiss you. Is that okay for you?"

Nick's brain came to a screeching halt. Monroe? Kissing him? _What_? He stared with wide eyes up to the Blutbad, who was watching him expectantly. Nick felt heat rise into his cheeks and he wanted to turn away, but instead he found himself nodding. Monroe smiled his special Nick-smile again and leaned in.

Nick's pulse picked up and frantic thoughts tumbled through his head. Should he close his eyes or keep them open? What should he do with his hands? He was still holding "Red Storm Rising", maybe he should put it aside. But where should he put his hands then? On Monroe's chest? His back? Maybe it was better to hold onto "Red Storm Rising". And what about the kiss itself? Mouths open or closed? Should he…

Monroe's mouth gently touched his. The contact was feather light, the kiss chaste. Monroe leaned in again. His beard tickled a bit and it was far softer than Nick had anticipated. One of Monroe's big hands gently cradled Nick's jaw and the Blutbad deepened the kiss. Monroe sucked Nick's lower lip into his mouth and Nick's eyelids fluttered closed. Nick parted his lips and their tongues touched. Nick shuddered in pleasure and a soft sound escaped him. Monroe's second hand slipped into Nick's dark hair. "Red Storm Rising" clattered to the floor and Nick swayed closer to Monroe. One of his arms went around the Blutbad, one hand tangled in his flannel-shirt. Nick had always liked how Monroe smelled and he tasted even better. Monroe's hand stroked Nick's hair and then slowly down his back. Nick arched like a cat into the gentle caress. Monroe's hand slipped farther south.

NO! Sudden panic slammed into Nick. He braced for a struggle to free himself, but Monroe released him instantly.

"Don't!"

"Jesus, Nick, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I knew it was too early. I shouldn't have asked you. Can you forgive me?"

Self-recrimination and self-loathing were prominent on Monroe's face and his brown eyes were desperate. Nick swallowed hard. He hated the idea that he had put this look on Monroe's face. Why had he reacted like that? Monroe would never hurt him. He would never do something Nick didn't like, would he? Insecurity gnawed at Nick. He made himself reach out to Monroe and he tentatively touched the Blutbad's arm.

"It's okay. I'm not mad or anything."

Monroe didn't look very convinced and Nick ventured, "I like the kissing. But…" He felt himself blushing again. "I don't want to have sex. I don't think I can. Now. Maybe later. Definitely later. But not now. If that's okay with you, I mean."

"Nick, you're rambling. Of course that's okay with me. You set the pace. If you don't like something we do, you tell me and we stop."

"Really?"

"Really. And I guess we should keep things for now firmly north of the equator, hm?"

Nick gave an unsure little half-smile. "If you don't mind?"

"Not at all."

"Okay. So… Can I kiss you?"

Monroe's smile was a thing of beauty and he leaned in again. Nick smiled too. His future looked suddenly a lot brighter.

FIN.


End file.
